Face Transplant
by Karenina
Summary: The first face transplant had been carried out on a male whose face has been deformed since birth. Christine’s fingers trembled as she read the newspaper. Would he come back and take what belonged to him once his face was no more barrier?
1. Face Transplant

**:Disclaimer:** I do not own POTO. This story is no reviving of the 38-year-old-woman from Valenciennes who's had a face transplant done by Dubernard and Devauchelle in 2005. The people used in this fanfic are made up (e.g. the names of the doctors aren't "Dubernard" and "Devauchelle", so is the place not related to the real first face transplant that was done in 2005.

**:Author's Note:** I have never written a modern-day-fic, so please tell me what you think of it. Flames are welcomed, too, so don't hesitate.

**:Summary:** The first face transplant had been carried out on a male whose face has been deformed since birth. Christine's fingers trembled as she read the newspaper. Would he come back and take what belonged to him once his face was no more barrier?

**:beta:** Incapability

**: Face Transplant :**

_or: The Point of No Return_

Christine turned off the coffee machine and poured some coffee into a cup. Her thoughts already laid on the question which marmelade she would put on her croissant, she put the cup on the kitchen table and sat down. Outside, the rain was pounding on

her window. As her fingers reached for the marmelade glass, her glance fell upon the newspaper.

"**Surgeons carried out the world's first face transplant in Paris** -

_The operation took place three weeks ago in Paris, and is believed to have lasted approximately five hours. The 48-year-old French patient from Paris underwent extensive counseling before his operation. Having been deformed since birth, the patient decided to risk the procedure and begin a new life. _

_"There is only one thing on earth I want to do before I die – and for that, I need a new face." –The Patient's words before the operation._

_The tissues, muscles, arteries and veins needed for the transplant were taken from a multi-organ donor in the northern city of Lille, who has been brain-dead.These tissues now replace the skin on half of his skull, and the surgeons were able to form a new nose for him as well._

_The operation was carried out by a team led by Professor Raquin and Professor Froid._

_In a statement, the hospital said that the man has been able to speak and will be able to go home in two more weeks. He is in excellent general health."_

A loud noise escaped her throat and cut through the iron silence which had formed while she had read the article. Her pale face stared at the lines which she could not read anymore. Tears had formed in her eyes and made it impossible for her to see anything. Christine's fingers clenched the glass of marmelade so tightly that her knuckles shone yellow through the skin.

One thought after the other crossed her mind as she breathed heavily. Here in Paris, she would not be safe once he was released from hospital. She would be safe nowhere.

Suddenly throwing the glass of marmelade on the table – it rolled across its surface and fell to the floor, the glass broke with a noise that was similar to her feelings – Christine stood up and ran out of the kitchen.

At the same time in the St. Lucien Hospital in Paris, a nurse handed a hankerchief to her patient. "How are you feeling today?"

The patient nodded and his voice sounded morbid through the layers of bandage that had been put on his face. "I am fine. I can hardly wait for this bandage to be taken off."

"You will be able to go home very soon, Monsieur," the nurse said, "but please do not forget to sing a song for us. We have never had a patient with such a beautiful voice."


	2. Betray de Chagny

**:Thanks to:** Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, MJ MOD, Angel of Music24, Evelyn Stone, Masked and Forgotten, Lady Assasin Moonbeam, FaNtAsMaS ChIcA and the Mouse in the Opera House for reviewing chapter one! You offered me a great deal of support which I was hoping for but never expected to come. I write all of this for you, my readers!

**:Author's Note:** The next update should be around Wednesday, 31st May due to me going to Rom for a couple of days and school exams bugging me.

**:A Note On Pairing:** So, my dear RC-haters or RC-lovers, or EC-haters or EC-lovers: Don't judge too early what this will end with. Take your time and enjoy it, no matter which pairing you adore or hate.

_Please do excuse grammar mistakes due to me not being a native speaker and take it as granted that I will put up the corrected version once I can finally get hold of my beta._

**: Face Transplant :**

**: Chapter Two : Betray de Chagny :**

With a movement of the hand that told any skilled eye he was a nobleman, Monsieur de Chagny put the newspaper back on his table. Although it was two days old, he had read the article again and again. Pondering about what to think of the latest happenings, he stood by the large window of his office and watched the sky of Paris and their thick clouds. From time to time, his cell phone would ring only to remind him how much work he had already neglected. But Monsieur de Chagny barely cared. He had problems on his mind that seemed more difficult to solve than the question which businessman he'd meet next for lunch.

Surely, he trusted his fiancé. After all, he loved her dearly and couldn't wait for her to marry him. But still, Monsieur de Chagny heard a little voice at the back of his head that whispered some secrets to him from time to time. Sometimes, this voice told him that his fiancé was the only true love he'd ever find – and these days, it taught him not to trust anybody. Especially whenever _he_ was concerned.

He glared at the newspaper as if his eyes tried to inflame it - to erase all the memories of _him_. He was no wizard and although he knew about his earthy powers since he was a man accompanied by a lot of money, there were still things he could not change. Things one cannot buy. Hearts.

After some more minutes of derisory attempts at making the newspaper disappear by staring at it, he sighed loudly and sat back down on his chair. If he did not do something now, it would be too late. Time was not only money – time was his fiancé.

He took up his cell phone and dialed her number. While waiting for her to take his call, he watched his manicured fingers play with the smooth surface of his office desk. When he heard her voice, a unavowed pain shot through his chest.

"Hello?"

He remained silent, still staring at his fingers. "Hello? Raoul, is that you?"

"Yes," he gave back, now playing with the buttonhole of his Armani suit. "Darling, how are you?"

"I am fine."

"When will you come to my appartment again?"

"I don't know." Her short way of answering made him think she was unwilling to speak – maybe even occupied? Another glare was shot at the newspaper before his mind came back to the conversation.

"Can I come to yours?"

"Raoul, please – I can't speak right now."

"We haven't spoken for two days. I worry about you."

"There is nothing to worry about. Really. I am fine."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at Meg's."

"You haven't spoken to her for months. How come now you're suddenly best friends again?" His fingers desperately clutched a ballpen. "Christine, what is going on? Does _he_-" Monsieur de Chagny hesitated. But there was no need to speak on. He knew she would refuse further statements.

"Raoul, I told you I cannot speak about this right now!" She always refused further statements as to _him_. _He _was the spot of dark blood on their sheets, _he_ might be the one she thought of while falling asleep every night. Before he read about _him_ in the newspaper, he thought his fiancé might be cured from _his_ influence. Only during the last two days, this thought had occurred to him and was now tied to his mind. It was exasperating.

"Very well then. Let me hear from you soon." He quickly hung up and let his fingers run through his hair. Slowly rubbing his forehead, he picked up the cell phone again.

"Hello? Yes, this is Monsieur de Chagny. I might have some business for you to do, detective. No, it's private. Do you have time to drink a coffee with me?"


	3. Wishes and Vanities

**:Thanks to:** Nedjmet, MaskedNicci, Scarletquillraven, the Mouse of the Opera House, Ripper de la Blackstaff, MJ MOD, tremblmakr7, Sukari and Erik's Muse for reviewing chapter two!

**:Beta: **My Latin teacher MS! **_Big_** thanks to her! And ibelieve from dance dot net.

**: Face Transplant :**

**: Chapter Three : Wishes and Vanities :**

_It is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere._

_- Voltaire, 1694-1778_

Madame Giry's small and fragile figure crossed the big living room and entered the kitchen, carrying bags with food. When she saw that Erik was sitting on a chair, her face lit up and she smiled. "Erik," she said softly and put the bags on the kitchen counter before she would come over to him and take his hand, "I did not know you'd be home already. Do you like the appartment?"

"Yes," he replied, "it was a good choice. Thank you a lot for organising it all."

"Ah, it's fine," Madame turned away to put the food into the refrigerator. "I called your doctor and he said you don't need to stay at home anymore. How did you get here?"

"I couldn't stay at your house anymore, Madame. Meg drove me here."

"I see." Her brows were knit as she stepped to the window. "I think it is good that the newspapers weren't allowed to print the article until some days ago. They'll swallow you whole, Erik. You needed the time to recover."

"I am fine." He stood up and took her hand. "I really am. I mean – look at me!"

Madame gently pressed his hand and smiled brightly. "I am so happy for you. Really – once these scars have healed completely, you'll be a very handsome man."

"Madame," Erik chipped in, "don't lie to me. This isn't my face, and we all know it. I am nothing a beautiful woman would pick as a first choice. But thanks to you, now I can step outside again. People won't turn around for me. And finally, I can do whatever I wish." He looked outside and pointed at the people passing by. "You organised the operation, this appartment – now it is on me to fulfil the last dream I've had for a long time."

She nodded, although a thoughtful look crossed her eyes.

"Do you think she heard about it?", Erik asked with some hesitation. "She should have."

"Yes," Madame gave back and turned from him. "Yes, I believe so."

XXX

Christine's back ached from the wall she had been leaning on for hours. In vain attempts to find a solution to the problem only from staring at her appartment wall, she had refused to take part in life. Every human emotion was being felt by her desperate self. Christine's eyes resembled her very feelings: When her thoughts turned to Erik, a feeling of warmth spread through her. How he had helped her! How he had supported her! But then, thinking of Raoul, her eyes darkened. Pity crossed her iris and her eyelids went down. She had not played fair back then... The hours passed like leaves falling to the ground, one by one, sometimes bewilderingly fast.

Christine's poor mind was not allowed a minute of sleep by her unresting heart, and so she soon felt boundless disdain for everything. Human emotions! What tricks fate played on people. Love? Who could ever tell about its existence? Lies! All of them! Fate had betrayed her, showing her the warmest feelings one after the other and then, suddenly tearing it apart and in the end, she felt as though she was left with a treasure – Raoul – that would never be shattered by anything. Christine, once again, found herself taught better.

After three days of being in this unbearable state of mind, not having eaten at all, she found herself still daydreaming about what could have been … what could be … possibly … until she finally fell asleep. When she woke up out of the black sea of futile dreams, crossing the edge to madness, she felt her heart break in pieces. She was in pain. Moaning, she touched her temples. Barely able to walk at first, she rather hobbled into her bathroom to take some pills. Her own mirror reflexion suddenly pulled her from brought her back to reality. She looked horrible, her eyes surrounded by dark circles, her skin pale. To redeem herself from the direful look, she turned away, grabbed a pack of Paracetamol and quickly swallowed them with a glass of water. This would have to end. She was about to break herself from all this. She was frantically searching for how to end what hadn't begun and the sudden realisation of this set her mind back in place. "Reality," she thought, "is the only thing I need." Erik was not nearby – so indifference was the only path back to reality.

Oh, how her poor soul bathed itself in false assumptions!

Everything lay clear in front of her eyes. Her bedroom was, all out of the sudden, not as grey and dark as she had seen it the days before. The noises of the street in front of her house reached her ears again and she took a deep breath. Having dressed properly, she left her apartment to discover the world.

Little did she know when she closed the door behind herself. Little did she want to know. But nobody is left behind by fate, neither was she. Only moments of her inner safety were left, only small pieces of time. Unprepared to face what reality truly was, in contrast to her own dreamworld, she wandered through the streets of Paris, her feet always avoiding the autumn leaves, her eyes wandering here and there. She usually was not the type of person to ignore what must be seen. Perhaps the sudden loss of control over her feelings replaced any rational thoughts with nothing but frivolity.

Nevertheless, no matter in which world of reality she was – or thought that she were – she was abruptly thrown out of it. Having turned to open the door to a small supermarket near by her appartment, Christine's heart sat out for some beats.

On the other side of the road, there was a man leaning on a wall. He had his hat pulled down so that she couldn't see his face. His black cloak evilly reminded Christine of his… Everything turned in front of her inner eye, and the only thing she remembered from that on was that she was sitting on the floor in the supermarket behind big sacks of washing powder, crying hard like a child. Panic rose inside of her, and her thoughts were racing. Why was he released from hospital so fast? Why had he found her, not knowing that she had moved to a different part of the city? Had he realized that she had discovered him down there on the road? Would he come after her?

Oh, Christine… _Mademoiselle Daae_… She did not know what to feel. She was torn between endless happiness about his sudden appearance, yes, the bounds of her vanity were broken apart by his confession that he _still_ loved her, and panic as to what to do. But vanity got the better of her and so Mademoiselle Daae grabbed her handbag, stood up from the floor and rushed out of the supermarket and into the street, looked around in a rush, tried to grab any indication as to where he was – but he was gone.


	4. Advertisement Truth

**:Thanks to: **MJ MOD and the Mouse of the Opera House for reviewing chapter three!

**:Author's Note:** If you don't like the story anymore, you can review anyway. If a writer says "tell me what you think," they mean the bad parts, too.

**: Face Transplant :**

**: Chapter Four : Advertisement Truth :**

_"The advertisement is the most truthful part of a newspaper." - Thomas Jefferson_

It rather was a coincidence that let Monsieur de Chagny discover what would change him for the rest of his life. Although at first he could not quite believe it, the truth had to be faced in the end and he was not so foolish as to close his eyes to reality. On the contrary – reality, at least this time – was not of a bad nature for him.

He agreed to meet the detective in a café near the Opera Garnier. Soon, de Chagny felt at ease, having listened to the detective for long enough to realise Christine was not yet running after _him_. Not yet. And _he_ seemed to have neither written her, nor called her. No signs of communication existed between _him_ and Christine, the detective assured him. Although the detective thought she had seen him shadow her – a rather unfortunate aspect of the matter, to be honest – and so he feared Christine would soon find out that her fiancé had hired somebody. The conversation was not carried any further, for de Chagny's look suddenly fell on a poster that hung on the wall of a department store.

_"Newcomer composer Monsieur Transplanté presents his first masterpiece: 'Night's Fair' – 21st October, 19 pm, Opera Garnier."_

Christine might be running after _him_. But _he_ certainly was not running after her.


	5. Night's Fair

**:Thanks to:** Virginie, Masked and Forrgotten, Sukari, BreakingFreePhantomPhan, MJ MOD and the Mouse in the Opera House (now have I really spelled your nickname wrong for the past three chapters? I am so sorry! Hit me with cookies!) for reviewing chapter four.

_Thanks to Sukari for pointing out a spelling error in her review! Yay for you, girl._

**:Author'sNote:** Understand the difference between quality and quantety. Be patient…

**: Face Transplant :**

**: Chapter Five : Night's Fair :**

_**to Erik**_

_"The key to the mystery of a great artist is that for reasons unknown, he will give away his energies and his life just to make sure that one note follows another . . . and leaves us with the feeling that something is right in the world."_

_Leonard Bernstein_

Madame Giry knew what to do. She always had. It was the one and only skill her mother had given over to her, it was the only thing she always smiled about: Her own ability to be tough on people. But this time, it was different. Madame Giry knew that Christine was not good enough for Erik. She also knew that Christine would, in the long run, only harm him and punish his poor talent which –finally!- needed some free room to glide into and spread. Approaching the Opera Garnier, the cell phone pressed to her ear, her forehead buried in deep folds, she kept thinking on and on what to answer. Could she risk the quality of Erik's performance? Not in the world!

"You cannot speak to him. I will not give you his number. This is it, Christine." Madame Giry felt her heart warm up as she broke Christine's, for it was the right decision and only to Erik's very own intentions.

"But Madame, I really need to speak to him-"

"He will be busy after the show. You are not the only one to speak to him. For I believe you are the last who he wants to talk to, after all." Before Christine had any chance to protest, Madame hung up and stuffed the cell phone back into her handbag which was already overly full. Pulling the door open to the Opera Garnier, Madame felt she entered a different world. Oh, she breathed theatre air again!

XXX

"Madame Giry!" Erik jumped off his chair and flew into Madame's arms. He was crying, but the smile on his face told Madame it were tears of joy. "Madame!", he repeated, "I knew you'd come."

"How could I not have? My ballerina's will be dancing tonight. And I am overly excited to see the audience tonight. They will not have a chance to close their mouths!"

"What about my face?"

"What shall there be?" Madame shook her head and waved her hand gracefully. "We have already talked about this, Erik. There is no need for you to be nervous in any way. Don't forget that you have written this piece in only a couple of days and it took my ballerinas ages to rehearse it, not to speak of the singers."

"It is not easy to sing," he said and sat back down on his chair to let Madame comb his hair, "it really isn't. I kept the storyline as easy as possible, though. We do not want to scare them off." His eyes examined his new face in the mirror. Erik's shaking fingers touched the skin of his nose. "It does not even look too foreign." For a second or two, Madame thought to see pure joy in his eyes. She dipped her fingers into a pot of moisturising cream and put it on his face.

"I can do that all by myself, Madame," Erik objected. But Madame resisted on doing it herself. "Erik," she whispered and her look became almost motherly, "this is your big show. You shall lean back and relax. You can do it yourself once we'll have this every weekend." When Madame fell silent again and stared at herself in the mirror of his changing room, Erik's eyes caught her dispair.

"Madame, something is wrong."

"Yes, it is. Christine called me." She breathed in sharply and watched his reaction. To her disbelief, there was nothing disturbing about it. "Erik, did you hear me?"

"Yes."

"You do understand what I say."

"Yes. So she did find out."

"She wants to speak to you."

"Ah," he sighed understandingly, "so she doesn't understand."

"I wish she did." They both looked at each other, every one of them having their very own thoughts which ended up to be the same: Christine simply did not understand.

XXX

Monsieur de Chagny ripped his ticket in two pieces and sat down on the seat. He took several looks around to see whether Christine had come, too. She had called him to say she would spend another night at Meg's, but even the detective said one should not believe her any longer. People who had only one thing on their minds would even kill for that one thing – and de Chagny planned to interfere. At least a little bit. At least as much as would be needed to keep the disaster from happening. At this point, de Chagny understood more of Erik than Christine ever had…

… when the curtain rose, he sighed. Perhaps, he would be even wiser at the end of this night.

XXX

His heartbeat was at a normal rhythm as he stepped on the conductor's pedestal. As he turned to the audience, there was no rumour, there were no noises of people stepping from one foot to the other because of pure panic – there was an applause that was not akin to any that the Opera Garnier had ever heard. He smiled. People had expected him to have a scar on his face, had expected him not to be too good-looking, but nevertheless, on every seat there was sitting a person who couldn't wait for the show to begin. That night would be unbelievable and there was nothing on earth that would stop him from fulfilling his dream.

XXX

Meg stood in the wings, carefully rolling en and off pointe, putting enough rosin on the platform of her black pointe shoes. Her – too – slender body waved to and fro with the tact of the music, for not even she could resist. In some moments, she would enter the stage and dance to Erik's music. 'What an honour,' she thought and pulled her pointe shoe ribbons tighter around her ankle. Things had changed to much. He had changed so much. They had planned this night for ages! Months! Oh, she remembered him sitting in the corner of their rehearsal room, glaring at the pianist who apparently could not give enough emotion to Erik's music. His white mask had been necessary, but now it wasn't anymore. At their last rehearsal before the show, he did not wear it. His operation was several weeks ago and his scars had healed a little – and all ballerinas in the room were relieved to see him without the mask. He held a rose for every dancer and gave them out, kissing their hands and singing a small verse to every single ballerina. 'What a man,' she thought and turned to her mother. Madame Giry kissed her on the cheek, put more lipstick on Meg's lips and gently pushed her on stage.

XXX

It was wonderful. There were no words for de Chagny to describe this evening. He forgot about the detective who was about to follow Christine that night, he forgot about his business, he forgot about all the sorrow that had been in his heart for a long time – he only listened to the music which was hardly human. He recognised Meg Giry dancing the leading role and could barely breathe as she moved her strong legs and her graceful arms. It was not earthy anymore – it was heavenly. He had not thought Erik to be capable of this but saw himself proven differently. He was a genius! The singers of the second act – truly a break in tradition, for opera and ballet would not be combined until that very day – were the jewels of the night. And then, in the last minutes, Erik himself sang some lines. The audience could not have been more slavish to his skills. De Chagny, like any other watcher, cried when Erik bowed.

XXX

"Erik!"

He turned around. Suddenly, his face lost all the happiness it had. Yes, suddenly, he who had turned the Opera Garnier into a piece of heaven for two hours was back on earth. Both his feet seemed to give in to his emotions, but he kept himself standing.

"What are you doing here?"

Christine leaned against the wall of his dressing room. "I wanted to thank you."

"What for?"

"I loved the show."

"That is good to know." He turned from her to comb his hair once more that night. As if he did not know she were there, he put off his make-up.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

She approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. It was only then that he noticed she was crying. "Erik, please – I haven't seen you in months."

"I know."

"How can you be so cold, Erik? Has she taught you to ignore your feelings?"

"Madame Giry made a wiser man of me, Madame de Chagny."

"Is ignoring your feelings wise?"

"No, but it is wise to give up what does not avail but only hurts."

A shiver ran down her spine. "Give up?"

"Madame de Chagny, I would be very pleased if you left my room now."

"But Erik, how can you speak to me like that?"

Suddenly, he was outraged. His hands shook as he turned towards her.

"You look good," she said and smiled, "you really do."

"Madame de Chagny, I believe it were better for you to leave."

"Erik, I do not want to!" Christine, all dizzy in her childish feelings, threw herself down to his feet. "Please don't make me leave! Don't you love me anymore?"

"No."

His voice was so cold she felt her heart freeze and break. The following moments were the worst of her life.

"This is what you always do, Christine – you follow your heart, no matter where the path leads. But this is not how humans should behave! I have had enough of you. You destroyed me, you destroyed every positive feeling my heart ever had with your leaving for Raoul! I have spent months and months putting the pieces back together, and had it not been for Madame, I would not even be alive."

Crawling to the door, Christine cried hard. She had difficulties opening the door but did not hear any further explanations of Erik's – she had to leave.

XXX

"I see you have been such a fool as to come and see him."

From behind Christine, Madame Giry closed the doors of the Opera Garnier and breathed in the cold autumn air of Paris. Christine turned from her and watched people pass.

"Is he with _you_ now, Madame Giry?"

"No, my dear," she replied, "and he never will be. You sucked out the last pieces of love he ever had, and I am to give back to him what you stole from him."

"You love him."

Madame Giry laughed. Not even _that_ Christine did understand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_"Turn your wounds into wisdom." _

_–_

_Oprah Winfrey_


	6. Big Lies Can't Hide

**: Face Transplant :**

**: Chapter Six : Big Lies Can't Hide :**

_to Christine_

It was not as warm a night as Christine had thought it would be. Perhaps the temperature was already a mirror of her fate, but she barely noticed anything but her own steps to de Chagny's apartment. It got darker and darker outside, but she preferred walking to taking a cab. The fresh air was supposed to do her good – but in her mental condition, nothing did.

When she reached the door to his apartment she felt her heart melt once again that night.

Yes, she had thrown herself to her knees to beg for Erik's forgiveness… yes, she had hoped he would take her back. Yes, she envied everybody who could be in the same room with him. And, oh, yes, how she envied Madame! But Christine obviously failed to understand _why_ Erik had rejected her; and this being, she decided to move on. Moving on apparently meant going further down the road to hell.

"Christine?" De Chagny sounded surprised. "What are you doing here at such a late hour?"

"Please let me in." A short buzzing sound told her she could enter the building, and having climbed the steps, she was as determined as she had never been to finally make the right decision.

Monsieur de Chagny was standing by the window and stared outside. Although there was nothing to see but the dark night of Paris, he was well aware of the fact that he was actually _seeing_ things quite differently, now that he had been part of something magical created by Erik - yes, he dared to think his name – Erik, who seemed like a hero to him. He looked up to him, indeed.

"Raoul!" Christine ran across the living room and fell into his arms. "Raoul," she breathed against his ear, "my dear fiancé. How good it is to see you again."

"You have quite … escaped me, don't you think?" He frowned. Something about her sudden change of mind told him not to trust her altogether, left alone what the detective had adviced him to do. He pulled himself away from her and looked at her carefully.

"What is it?" Christine tried hard to act as though nothing had – ever - happened, exactly the way she had always done. "Well, I felt the urge to see you."

"Why?"

"Why? – What do you mean – why? Because I love you."

"Where have you been in the last couple of days, where in God's name? You weren't at Meg's, and you certainly weren't at her place tonight."

She was struck by his knowing about how she had lied to him so regorously. After some moments of silence, she stared out of the window, her mouth slightly open. "No, I haven't. I spent the days thinking about our relationship."

"Our relationship?"

"Yes. And I decided that I need to marry you. Soon."

"Christine, tell me the truth."

"This is the truth!"

"No, it isn't!" He stepped back, an expression of anger on his face. "Tell me the truth, and I'll forgive you." He waited for her to say something, _anything_, a sign of –

"I haven't lied to you!"

"Christine, I beg you a last time. Tell me the truth and I might forgive you."

She shook her head. "I have been thinking about _us…_"

"You have told me lies, Christine, just the way you are telling me lies this very second! I have found out just a couple of moments ago," he pointed on his cell phone lying on the window sill, "that you have been to the Opera Garnier tonight." His voice was patient and cold. "You went to see him afterwards," he went on, "and you spoke to Giry. I know it all." De Chagny leaned against the wall behind him and calmly looked at her fragile figure. "You just lost your last chance to stay with me."

A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Leave."

She did not move. "Raoul… please, we have been engaged for such a long time!"

"Leave." His voice sounded as though it were better for him to be alone as soon as possible or his heart would break. It would, but he did not need her to be there when it did so. De Chagny would not be able to act with dignity for much longer...

She stopped at the appartment door to turn around a last time. Now, the tears were streaming down her face and she could barely make out her fiancé. "Raoul… I love you…"

"No," he said coldly, "you only love yourself."

_Those who want to have everything end up having nothing._

**:Fin :**

XXX

Thanks to everybody who read this story, thanks to those who loved it and thanks to those who didn't. I appreciated all your reviews very much, honestly, and I'd like everybody who read this story and followed up on it to leave a review – no matter whether they have ever left one on this story or not – because I'd really like an overall opinion. I hope this is not too much to ask for

XXX

_Thanks to Virginie for pointing out that it's "la" fin and not "le" fin, but I took her advice and placed it only "fin". So, guys, if there are mistakes - point them out!_


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